


A Matter of Taste

by edenbound



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:27:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21659044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edenbound/pseuds/edenbound
Summary: Aziraphale wants to provide free mince pies to customers of the shop, but of course, he can't offer an inferior mince pie. Crowley assists with the testing process.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 45





	A Matter of Taste

**Author's Note:**

> So last year was the first year my Belgian wife spent Christmas in the UK in our own house, so it was the first opportunity to really try mince pies. Obviously, as someone who likes the occasional mince pie at Christmas, I had to introduce her -- but we had to find the best ones! So we taste-tested every. single. mince pie we could find, with some reference to Which's guide. 
> 
> If you're wondering, last year M&S were our pick, and pretty high in Which's list. This year they're [the top of the leader board](https://www.which.co.uk/reviews/food-and-drink/article/best-mince-pies) for Which, even beating out the more expensive pie from Harrods.
> 
> So anyway we were talking about our taste-testing this year, after I tried a Sainsbury's one (they have several), and I realised that obviously Aziraphale would be a mince pie connoisseur. TADA.

"Oh, no, definitely not," Aziraphale said, putting the pie in his hand down hastily. He's surrounded by boxes of mince pies, each missing a single pie (or half a pie, or in some cases, just one bite of a pie). He looks at the pie he just put down, shaking his head. "That's... soggy pastry on the bottom, and that filling is just insipid. I'd say... three out of ten, if I was being generous."

"You don't have to be generous, angel." Crowley checks an item off the list. "Sainsbury's bakery, absolutely not. Alright. That's all the Sainsbury's pies. You're not angry, you're just disappointed. Next up, Lidl."

"Lidl? Really, dearest? I never knew they had their own mince pies."

"It got some... intrigued reactions in the Which guide. Chunks of nuts and fruit make it 'texturally interesting'."

Aziraphale gives it a doubtful look, but dutifully takes a bite. "Hm. They're not wrong. Underbaked, though. And somehow... you don't really taste anything. Maybe four out of ten."

"Definitely not, then." Crowley moves a discarded box out of the way and offers up a black and gold box. "Here. Marks & Spencer's. Spice, brandy and orange notes, whatever that means."

Aziraphale takes a bite and -- there, at last, the blissful expression. Crowley catches his breath a little at the sight of it; at Aziraphale's tongue darting out to collect a stray fleck of pastry. He even licks his fingers when he's finished. "Oh, this one is good. At least eight out of ten. The pastry's really very good, and the mincemeat actually tastes the way it should. I know the Harrods' ones were rather nice, but I think these are the ones I should get for the shop."

"I've never understood why you participate in all this," Crowley says, waving a hand at the tasteful arrangement of holly leaves and some golden, gentle Christmas lights (absolutely no twinkling). "You don't _want_ to welcome customers in."

"Not to buy _books_ ," Aziraphale agrees. "But... I just do enjoy it, dear. This time of year. There's the commercialisation of course, but it can bring out the best in people."

"Especially if they come in here," the demon agrees, but fondly, not accusing as he might once have been in order to maintain some fictions about Arrangements, and thwarting. "There is one other pie, but you absolutely can't offer these to customers."

"Whyever not?"

"They're not in commercial production."

Aziraphale waits, sure the punchline is coming. The tips of Crowley's ears are going a little pink as he produces a tupperware box, and though he exudes his affected nonchalence and a desperate note of total _cool_ , his erstwhile adversary (better word: companion) of so many years can easily read the awkwardness there. And then the significance of the tupperware comes home to roost, and Aziraphale perks up. "Crowley, I didn't know you knew how to -- "

"Didn't," Crowley says, almost through gritted teeth. "Took a class. Since you like... Anyway. Give it a try."

He selects a pie from the box with its proper reverence, inhaling the sweet and spicy scent of the pies, blowing off a little excess icing sugar. Crowley knows him so well, and he can sense immediately that there have been no miracles and no automation in the making of this pie. Crowley learned to do it, from scratch, to make him something real, something very deliberate, something... he takes a bite -- something actually _exquisite_. "Oh, Crowley," he breathes.

"It was the fifth batch," Crowley admits, fidgeting with his sunglasses. "The others... not so great."

Aziraphale is giving all due attention to the pie, though, eating it in careful bites, aware of Crowley's eyes on him but giving his full attention to what Crowley has made. Brandy, fruit, pastry, sugar, and _love_. He licks his fingers carefully and sets the tupperware down, goes over to his companion. His darling demon, who really is far more of a good person than he could ever bring himself to admit -- which is fine, because Aziraphale knows it for both of them, and if anyone is keeping score, he'll be glad to make it clear to them as well.

"Ten out of ten. You're really dreadfully romantic, dear," he says, leaning against Crowley and wrapping an arm around his waist. Crowley turns to bury his face in Aziraphale's hair.

"Shut up. 's our secret."

"I won't breathe a word." A pause. "You will make more?"

Aziraphale can't see the smile, but he feels the relieved gust of Crowley's breath, the starburst of helpless love he's no longer hiding. "'Course," he says. "Anytime."


End file.
